


Words - The Diary of Ianto Jones

by candesgirl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Diary/Journal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/pseuds/candesgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few entries from Ianto's diary. Set before Children of Earth.  Kind of silly. Mentions of most of the TW cast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words - The Diary of Ianto Jones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonlit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonlit/gifts).



~~Mistletoe~~

1\. (Parasitic bush) an evergreen bush that grows as a parasite on trees such as apple and oak, has leaves in horseshoe-shaped pairs, and bears white berries in winter.   
2\. (Christmas decoration) a sprig of mistletoe traditionally used as a decoration and for kissing under at Christmas

~ What we have there are the classic definitions of mistletoe, proving once again that I am right. I challenged Jack tonight at our sad little excuse for an office get together, or rather Jack’s little excuse to explore his fascinations with said offices. Yes, it is Christmas and all that, but does that give Jack the right to run around trying to snog everyone in sight? Come to think of it, his choices really were limited, and he did make the wise decision with me. I feel I don’t even need to go over his other options here. Do I? Gwen? Tosh? Owen? No, clearly I was the right man to pursue, but I digress. 

My point was, as Jack chased me around the Hub with his prickly bush I informed him that it was nothing more than a parasite, something that hangs around and threatens the original host, or so to speak. Funnily enough, if you look up the noun parasite in that same dictionary it says that a parasite is also a scrounger, which is somebody who exploits others without doing anything in return. Hmm, wonder if Jack would catch that reference? Think he owns a dictionary? He isn’t a stupid man and as of yet I have no reason to believe that he isn’t the giving type, and reading this back it seems like that is what I am insinuating. Would I let a stupid man chase me around with a parasitic branch all evening? Better yet, would I let a stupid man chase me around with that branch and wave it in my face when he finally catches me, or rather when I finally let him catch me? No, but I would let an intelligent, really good looking man corner me, finally, in his office, away from the prying eyes of our other colleagues. Would I allow a man who I thought would exploit me, not ‘give’ back, that sort of kiss? 

No, I don’t think I would, even if he did look like Captain Jack Harkness. I don’t think I would even if he smelled like Jack, that strange, heady and dare I say it, intoxicating blend that makes up 51st century pheromones. (Speaking of that, though I have yet to prove it, I am pretty sure that they get stronger when the person carrying them becomes more, shall we say, aroused. The longer he chased me around, the more he stalked me, and finally right before he kissed me, the smell was just out of this world, incredible. Much like Jack.)

God, I should erase some of this, what if he ever found it? What if any of them did? Sure, I write about various alien devices and the like in here, but I am just as apt to write about office gossip or even personal feelings, in a very mature and masculine way of course. I am not a girl. I am a confident man who enjoys the colour pink. You will not catch me writing things like “Mrs. Ianto Harkness” in this diary. Nope. Not me. Not ever. 

I suppose I should write about that kiss, since I did call it, and I quote, “that sort of kiss.” Alright, Ianto, fine, if you feel the need to write it down, have a go. I finally let him corner me, like I said, in his office, up against his desk. He leaned in with that stupid twig of berries and waved it in my face, telling me I was nicked, as if I was some slag they arrested on his favourite television show, Life on Mars. (He is always on about that show, has some man crush on that Sam Tyler bloke, who if you ask me looks a lot like Prime Minister Saxon. Jack does like the powerful ones. Wonder if that is why he likes the suit?) So yes, he tells me I am nicked and I tell him to stop and get on with it already. He stopped, like I told him to, but just looked at me as if I was some sort of alien. Well, no, I suppose that isn’t a proper analogy, since he’s seen aliens and doesn’t really look at them like that, does he? No, he was looking at me like I was, I don’t know, like I hurt him. He dropped the mistletoe, put his hands on my face and told me I was worth more than “getting it on with already.” Then he planted the softest, most gentle and unlike what I expected kiss on my lips. It was nice, odd but nice, odd but really nice... Until I made this little whimper noise that I will never otherwise admit to and that seemed to egg him on because next thing I knew my arse was on the desk, my legs were wrapped around Jack and his tongue was doing things in my mouth that I never before thought possible. 

I can’t even read that back because I will erase it if I do. I really have to find a decent hiding place for this thing. Maybe I could put it on Jack’s desk? He might not ever find it there in that mess. 

~Ianto

 

~~ Fellatio ~~

1\. The sexual stimulation of a man’s genitals using the tongue and lips

~ No, I did not have to look up what fellatio meant, nor did I have to look up hand job, blow job, 69, down hill racer, cock sucking, giving head, sucking off...Or any of the other absurd, lesser known names of the act are called. I like semantics and I tend to be a bit of a pedant at times so I find myself trawling the internet looking this stuff up, merely for research purposes of course. Well, there was that one time that I did look up proper techniques because though I had been on the receiving end of this particularly stimulating sex act, I had never been the performer. And might I add, I never thought I would be, nor did I think that I would be on my knees, under Jack’s desk, begging him to let me *insert your favourite cock sucking term here* And this, this was just the first time, I fear for what might happen the next time I am presented with such an opportunity. 

I don’t know what came over me. I do know what I came over... If I was reading this I would groan at that really bad little pun there. I don’t know, is that even the right term for that little quip: a pun? I really have to look that up as soon as I go back to that site with the tips and thank them, for apparently I am quite adept, especially for a novice. You see, anything worth doing is worth doing properly, just ask me mum. (Note here Ianto, as you read this back that you do not want to picture or talk about your mum at all in this frame of mind or within this subject matter.)

Back to the matter at hand, quite literally; Jack had just finished with one hell of a hand job, something he likes to call a work over. I had been standing between his thighs, my behind against the desk (yet again) while he sat at his chair, bringing me to the brink over and over again with his stroking, something about teaching me control, being able to “bite it back” or something of the like. I was fine with this, I assure you, and just as I told you that I am not a girl, I am also not a teenaged boy just learning how to get his rocks off. However, my body disagreed with me once Jack replaced his hands with his mouth, his tongue more specifically. In my defense, we are still pretty new to this as a couple and to be fair, I am sure that any man, woman or alien in my place would have a hard time not coming like an inexperienced school boy the first time Mr. Fifty First Century Boy licks a wide strip on the sensitive underside of their, well whatever privates they have, mine being a cock of course. 

That isn’t the best of it, oh no, there is more, and again I feel the need to write it down because it could read like a filthy novel if I had such writing skills. Should I try? Sure, isn’t like anyone else is going to read it, are they? Here goes:

He had me trapped there against the desk with his legs on either side of me, prisoner to his ministrations. I looked down to see those intense blue eyes staring wantonly back up at me from his seated position, watched helplessly as he moved his head slowly forward and released his expert grip on me only to replace it with a long, slow stroke of his equally expert tongue. My body exploded with sensation and I watched through a euphoric haze as Jack caught the milky strands with his face, each shot bringing a wider, more feral grin to his face. I leaned down in my post orgasmic glow and licked his face before dipping my tongue into his mouth, wanting nothing more than to leave my taste with him for days. He groaned against my mouth as my hands found his zipper and the throbbing heat that lay behind it. I pulled away and dropped to my knees, hungry for my first taste. 

I mimicked Jack’s actions from moments before and dragged my tongue slowly along the underside of his cock, immediately drunk on the taste and addicted to the gorgeous sound of his reaction. I did it again, and once more before closing my lips around him and mouthing slowly down, then hollowing my cheeks even more slowly around him on the way up, savouring him, the moment, the need in his voice and the way my name left his lips. “Oh God, Ianto...” “Fuck, Ianto...” “So good, Ianto”...Over and over again, each time my name dripping with more and more sin until his body finally shook, his hands in my hair trying to shrug me off of him in quick warning. My own hands covered his in my hair and interlaced as I brought them down by his side, holding tight onto them as I swallowed the hot seed he shot down my throat, looking up at him all the while and feeling a power that I’ve not felt ever before, something I want more of.

Hey, pretty good I’d say. Maybe that future in writing isn’t such a pipe dream after all? 

~Ianto

 

~~ Asinine ~~

(ridiculous) utterly ridiculous or lacking sense  
(like ass) relating to or resembling an ass

 

~Perhaps there should be a picture of me under asinine. There are likely better words as well, none of which I feel like repeating here. Big mess going on here, not even sure I still have a job, much less Jack to call my own; as if he was ever mine to begin with, as if I ever really fit in here at Torchwood Three to begin with. Lisa is dead, well and truly dead and I cannot be bothered to go into detail. This is not the sort of thing I need to revisit later in life, not what I need to be reminded of later on when I try to imagine the life I could have had. I will just say here, to remind myself later, that I loved Lisa, with all my heart, but my soul, oh, I fear that Jack caught hold of that the first time we met, when we captured Myfanwy together, who oddly enough played a role in the final moments of Lisa’s Cyberwoman life. 

Because I find comfort in words I will end with this:

~~ regret ~~

(feel sorry for something) to feel sorry and sad about something previously done or said that now appears wrong, mistaken, or hurtful to others  
(used politely when giving bad news) used as a polite expression of sorrow when making an apology or delivering a piece of bad or unwelcome news  
(mourn for somebody or something) to feel sadness about something, or feel a sense of loss and longing for somebody or something that is no longer there  
(sad or disappointed feeling) a feeling or expression of sorrow and guilt for a past action or event that you now wish had not happened or had happened differently  
(feeling of sadness) a feeling of sadness, disappointment, or longing for somebody or something that is no longer there

Shall we use them all the proper way then?

I regret that I hid Lisa inside of Torchwood. I regret that I told her I would keep her safe. I regret that I called Jack a monster, when that real monster is me.  
We regret to inform you, Ianto Jones, that you are no longer employed by Torchwood Three and that this will stay on your permanent record for the rest of your natural born life.  
I regret the loss of Lisa. I regret the loss of Jack. I regret the loss of, well, me.  
I feel nothing but regret over my asinine actions; over putting everyone I care about in such grave danger.  
My heart is full of regret over the loss of Lisa; my soul aches with regret over my actions towards Jack.

 

 

~~ fear ~~

(feeling of anxiety) an unpleasant feeling of anxiety or apprehension caused by the presence or anticipation of danger  
(frightening thought) an idea, thought, or other entity that causes feelings of fear  
(reverence) respect or awe for somebody or something  
(worry) a concern about something that threatens to bring bad news or results

~ We almost lost Jack. I have never been more scared in my life, never felt fear so strong. The idea of him being gone from this, or any other world, is something I cannot handle. He fought the demon, for us, for all of us. The man is amazing, and all I could think as Gwen stood watch over him for days is that if he wakes up, if he comes back to life just this one more time, I will be everything he needs, for he is everything I need. Torchwood is my life, Jack is my home. When I saw him standing there in the Hub with Gwen my heart exploded with happiness and reverence (hence the word choice today). I think I reached out my hand to shake his, I was so unsure of what to do. He had died with us being in such a tricky spot, but then he embraced me and kissed me, in front of everyone. 

I am quite surprised I am not writing “Mrs. Captain Jack Harkness” as my sign off name here... I may have turned a little bit into a girl today: a very happy girl dressed in a three piece suit and holding the hand of her big bad man who saved the world.

~Ianto

 

~~ perplexed ~~

 

(puzzle somebody) to puzzle or confuse somebody, especially causing doubt  
(complicate something) to make something overly complicated or intricate

 

~ Perplexed is only one of a few dozen words I can relate to right now, some of the others being anger and hurt and betrayed and really downright pissed off. I need to stop before I sound like Yoda. Jack is gone, took off, vanished without a trace, or so the others think. I am not a stupid man; in fact I am a lot more than any of them here at Torchwood think I am. He’s gone off to see his precious Doctor, I am sure of it. We’ve spoken of him a few times, each time ending with me holding Jack and caressing him until the wee hours and leaving me with this somewhat broken version of my Jack. I know of this Doctor, I know that he was Torchwood One’s number one enemy. I know that Jack rebuilt Torchwood in his honour, to try and make into something this mysterious being would be proud of. I would like to be able to say that part of me is happy for him, that he may have finally found what he was so desperately searching for, but in all honesty I cannot. 

 

~~ cautious ~~

having or showing care, thoughtfulness, restraint, and lack of haste

 

Jack came back today, showed up and shot the blowfish when I could not. It took all the strength I had not to run at him and either slap him or kiss him, perhaps both, though knowing Jack he would have rather enjoyed that. I asked him, outright, are you going back to him, back to the Doctor, and he looked at me, not Gwen or Tosh or Owen, at me and said “I came back for you.” For all of us, he then said, but it was there; that spark we had, that glimmer in his eye, that reaction from my body. When he asked me out on a date later that day as we were searching for John I knew he was the one trying for cautiousness, for a change. It was as if our roles reversed, even for a moment, and he was the one apprehensive of me. Again I felt that surge of power, similar in nature to being on your knees for someone you...have an insane amount of feelings for. I said yes and vowed to take it slow this time.

Of course, I broke that vow a few hours later, back at the Hub, finally alone with Jack for the first time in months. I tried to coax him into talking, into letting it all out, into telling me what happened in those months he was away, but Jack had other plans; plans that involved flinging clothes into far corners of the Hub and snogging up against every wall imaginable, plans that had every inch of our bare skin touching, until the ache and the need became unbearable.

That is when it happened: our first time. Sure, we’d done everything by then but, no pun intended, the act of intercourse itself. Jack led me down to the small bedroom beneath his office and before I could protest, not that I would have, he presented himself to me, crawling onto all fours and glancing back at me with a look I could only describe as primeval, bordering on predatory. How Jack could manage to stalk me in a classic submissive position is beyond me, but that’s one of the many reasons he is exactly who he is. I managed to find some half empty tube of lube stored in his small night stand, and pushed the idea out of my mind that others may have been there before me. That didn’t matter, as I was there now, crawling onto the bed behind Jack and preparing him with one, then two, then three fingers, delighting at the shiver of his skin as I ran my other hand down his spine, thrilled at the way he pushed back on my hand, effectively fucking himself on my fingers until he begged for more. That’s right, he begged, whined even. “Ianto, please...” Until I pushed into that unbelievable heat with a force much stronger than I originally intended, a pace that Jack was eager to keep up with. It didn’t last long; it was maybe minutes until Jack reached around and placed my shaking hand on him for one, two quick strokes until he came with a fierce growl, sending me spiraling into my own release. 

Oh it was good. So good in fact, that I am off for more, right now. I think it might be my turn, so expect me to be back with sordid details to read, for my own pleasure of course, at a later date. 

~Ianto


End file.
